Chemistry of a Car Crash
by CaptainBarbosa55
Summary: They crashed into each other, in more ways than one. AU
1. Crashing into You

A.N:This is my first captainswan fic, so I will accept criticism for it. I am an avid reader of CS fics, and I am a big fan of AU's. I love our ship, and I hope you enjoy this piece. _Chemistry of a Car Crash by Shiny Toy Guns inspired me to write this piece. _

Car Crash AU

_They crashed into each other, in more ways than one._

(Part 1/?)

She feels it suddenly, the gentle caress of the sea tickling her toes. She walks further into it, the water beginning to carry her like a gentle lover bringing her to bed. She relaxes, feels the sun warm her skin, and the bite of the salt sting her eyes. Peering at the sky, she realizes that she hasn't stood amidst the waves of a tempered sea in over two years. So how did she get here? All at once, she is drowning. Pulled down, strangled by the shock, she feels herself clawing for air. The once welcoming waves are now monstrous as they swallow her whole. She closes her eyes and surrenders to the darkness...

She bolts upright gasping for air. She struggles to breathe as she grasps the seatbelt confining her chest and attempts to release herself. Her eyes wildly search for a source of her distress, the bitter taste of salt lingering on her lips. Nausea sets in fast, as she begins to recall the sound of metal scraping on metal, glass shattering, and the roar of waves...A loud bang sounds through her car, making her heart skip and her breath stagger even more. She turns to the source, her eyes meet a set of stunning blue orbs. A storm has settled in this man's eyes, and Emma was caught in it.

"_Unlock the door, sweetheart." _He shouts, his voice muffled by the glass.

"_I'm not your sweetheart._" She mumbles back in retort, eyes suddenly too heavy to keep focused on his.

"_Hey, hey look at me." _He is shouting again. _"Please unlock the door, you're hurt."_

Grumbling, chest still heaving, she fumbles with the lock. A resounding 'click' echoes through the car, and suddenly he is above her. Murmuring an array of apologies, something about turning without using his signal, his accent was filling the confined space and washing over her like a cool shower, relaxing her. Air finally made it's way through her lungs, as he reached for her hand and gripped it tight.

"_Bloody hell, I did on a number on you. Sorry, love" _he says, a nervous chuckle escaping him as he manages to unbuckle her.

"_I'm not your love." _She mumbles again, attempting to pry his grip from her hand.

"_Tough one you are. Half conscious and still manage to spit fire." _He says, as his now free hand hovers over her cheek. His eyes watch her, carefully calculating the damage he has caused. Her body hums with a warmth that she had long forgotten existed, his presence was demanding, his fingers were delicately pushing her curls from her face.

"_Do you have anyone I can call? The ambulance is on the way." _He whispers, still above her she feels as if she is once again drowning.

"_No." _She replies quickly. _"I don't have anybody." _Tears are threatening to spill from her lids. Her eyes falter from his, slowly drooping to a close.

"_None of that now, stay awake love." _He cares, but it's only because he feels guilty. Nobody cares about her well being in the long run. Alone, always alone. She welcomes the wave of unconsciousness that is threatening pull her under, and succumbs to the familiar feeling of drowning into darkness.

* * *

><p>The last thing Killian expected on this blasted Friday afternoon was to ram his new car into a rather old looking VW bug. He wonders how he could have missed seeing it, the bright yellow shine of it was enough to burn ones eyes. He was distracted of course, but only for a moment as he attempted to figure out the workings of the radio. Tired, overworked, and craving the six-pack that was sitting cozy in his fridge, he had abandoned the common knowledge to <em>look<em> before he turned left without the proper use of his damn blinker. Living in a small town, he didn't expect much (or any) traffic especially when he took the backroads home. Who knew at the exact moment of turning, one hand still furiously searching for the right button to the radio, that damn yellow bug would be breezing by. His car collided with the Bugs' driver's side, the front end of his vehicle _nearly_ destroyed in an instant. Airbags deployed, radio _finally_ blasting, he growls in frustration as he tries to remove himself from his car. Feeling slightly annoyed at the other person's lack of attention, (avoiding his own guilt) he strides over and peers in. This Friday was _full _of surprises. Unlike what he initially expected, from such an old vehicle, he sees inside a beautiful blonde. Slightly slumped over the steering wheel, eyes closed, and head bleeding.

"_Bloody hell" _ he whispers to himself as he reaches for the handle, which (no surprise) is locked. Knocking gently, he attempts to pry her from her unconscious state. A valiant effort on his part, saving the damsel in distress. After a few more seconds, he realizes _then_ that he should probably call an ambulance. He nearly smacks himself for not calling instantly, he bites his tongue (holding back the line of insults he has for himself) and attempts to maintain his sanity a little longer, for the lass. After the quick call, he returns his focus to the woman. Her eyes have begun to flutter open, and he notices instantly that she is _really_ hurt. She bolts upright and grips the steering wheel, her eyes widen and he sees her chest heave _really heave_ and a wave of shame hits him. He begins pounding on the window, and her eyes jump to his. A wild jungle, a perfect shade of green, no _jade_ finds his and his stomach drops. Beautiful, stunning, perfectly disheveled. Her mass of curls dance in the chaos, a siren beckoning him to answer her call. Stunned, he talks to her, how he finds the words he does not know.

"Unlock the door sweetheart." He shouts, fists still pressed against the glass. He watches the transformation in her eyes, sees them turn cold, and narrow in hesitation. The fear that once rested in them long gone.

"I'm not your sweetheart" She says calmly, though her body is still shaking and her head is still dripping crimson blood down her forehead. He is bewildered to say the least. He wanted to laugh at her vibrancy, her sass was electric and it sparked a fire in him that he didn't want to put out. She begrudgingly unlocks the door, he can tell she is weak, but even in this state she is _defensive_. He examines her slowly, he regards every inch of her. He reaches over her, his hand accidentally grazing her thigh as he unbuckles her. He feels electricity dance on his fingertips, _how could one small touch make his knees shake? _ She heaves a sigh of relief, and he watches as her face relaxes.

"Bloody hell I did a number on you. Sorry love." He says with a light chuckle, watching her features contort with displeasure at his words.

"I'm not your love." She spits back. He decides in that moment that he likes her. Never has a woman been so adamant about dismissing his use of endearing terms. He has never experienced a woman so _alive_ even when half conscious. He feels his body hum with warmth, as he leans closer to examine the gash on her forehead. The smell of the sea is lingering on her, and he want's to know _why_. He wants to know her story, he wants to know why she drives this damned vehicle, but most of all he wants to see her smile (and of course be more conscious).

"Do you have anyone I can call?" He asks, as he hears the ambulance approach in the distance.

"No. I don't have anybody" She replies back, a tinge of sadness laced in her sour reply. Another pang of _shame_ washes over him. No family? No friends? Was there _nobody_ who she thought cared enough to be there for her? _Alone, just like him. _He watches as her face eases, the small wrinkle between her brow disappearing. Her eyes close abruptly, and he already misses them, and her, and that bloody voice of hers. He feels as if his chest has been pried open, his numb heart suddenly resurrected and beating loudly in his ears. _Shit_ he mutters as he exits her car, searching for the bloody ambulance. This girl was going to be the death of him.

And he didn't even know her name.


	2. Damaged Goods

A.N: I'm overwhelmed with the amount of you that have found this story, shared it, and favorited it. I am so thankful for all of you, and I am happy that you liked the first part of this fic. I know this update came rather quickly, but I was really inspired and just wanted to post it. I'll be updating weekly now, to build suspense. So hopefully this chapter lives up to all of your expectations. I love all of you. Also, feel free to message me, and please review. I am on tumblr a lot, so click my bio for my URL. I love chatting with you guys.

_The Chemistry of a Car Crash_

Chapter 2: Damaged Goods

"You're waking up a part of me I've never known, and I've never felt so invincible."

* * *

><p>Things are spiraling out of control around Killian. The blonde vixen had stormed into his life ripping him from the normality he had become so accustomed to over the past two years. He feels heat in his chest, electricity in his veins, and his heart is hammering (finally alive) inside the confines of his ribs. Green, a color he once hated, is now all he can see.<p>

_(Green was Milah's favorite color.)_

At the age of twenty-eight, Killian Jones feels he is a victim of life's cruelty. Fate's firm hand had destroyed any chance he had of obtaining a happy ending.

_(He was late that day, too hungover to wake up on time. She met another man on the curb outside of their favorite restaurant. How many times had they kissed there? Too many to count...)_

Living has become so mundane, so forced. He often finds himself lying in bed for days envisioning the day he would finally die, too much of a coward to do it himself. He grips tightly onto what little hope is left inside his wounded heart that she will return to him. The lavender perfume she wore so well would once again cling to his sheets, and her blasted array of heels would litter their floor, making them stumble in the night as he is gripping her waist and capturing her neck in a heated kiss...This hope, these images are all Killian lives for. He is stuck. Stuck in this small town that was supposed to house their life together.

_(She was frustrated with his excessive drinking, she was growing tired of his habits. He shouldn't have kept her waiting.)_

Abandoning his music career, he is now working a 9-5 job that gives him no satisfaction. The words that once flew from his soul, now lay dormant in his mind, tainted by the last words she spoke- I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.

_(Several ruined notepads still lay scattered around his place. Physical reminders of his attempts to write again without her, yet her name is sketched roughly on each page.)_

Now living in a run-down apartment on the outskirts of town because he can't fathom driving past their old house, his once loved home.

_(She loved his voice. He loved the small tilt of her lips as he sang sweetly I love you through the night, echos of passion ringing through the halls of their home.)_

She, the temptress that had ripped his heart from his chest and still holds it within her delicate fingers, is somewhere in the world happy, with another man and he is stuck.

_(He saw it in her eyes that he had lost her that night. The green dress she wore hugged every curve, the street lights highlighted those gorgeous cheekbones he loved to kiss. He saw it in the way she smiled at that man, the tension she held in her shoulders abandoned. He saw the light return to those damned eyes of hers, the light he sucked out of her. He saw the way her eyes dimmed as he approached, saw the tension crawl back into her bones, saw the way her smile faded...He shouldn't have kept her waiting.)_

Stuck here, because he can't imagine trying to build himself up again, he didn't want to abandon this place because it made it easier to remember her. Miserable and alone, he is attempting (and failing miserably) to live in the past. Sleazy Saturday nights with various women lead to Sunday nights drowning in rum. The harsh liquor slides down his throat easily, making the memories of her clearer, and the reality of everything hazier. This is his routine, this is who he had become. The blonde goddess is a beacon of light. A lighthouse beckoning to him to find home again. A wild sea of life that rattles his core and makes the air around him easier to breathe...

Forceful hands lift her from the beaten Bug, laying her onto a stretcher. There is an overwhelming amount of things to be done, but all he wants to do is be there for her when she wakes.

"What's her name, Killian?" A gruff voice asks from behind him.

Sheriff David Nolan is not a fan of Killian Jones. Late night calls to the station by various residents of Storybrooke regarding his drunken rendezvous were a norm, and David was always the one to have to deal with his daftness.

"Dunno, Mate." He says without turning to face him, his eyes are glued on the woman as she is being hoisted into the back of the ambulance. David shuffles around him, intentionally hitting his shoulder with his as he approaches the Bug.

"No need for the hostility today, Dave." He says, crossing his hands over his chest as the ambulance speeds off.

"It's Sheriff Nolan." He replies through gritted teeth, as he reemerges from the Bug holding a purse.

"The color suits you."

"Shut up, Jones." He huffs, as he fumbles through the bag. Eventually, after navigating his hand through an array of products, and any other absurd nonsense that always resides in a woman's' purse, he pulls out a wallet.

"She must be new to town, if you don't know her." Killian states, eyeing Dave as his fingers work through her wallet.

"Or maybe she is a decent citizen that doesn't require my attention every other day of the week." Dave replies back smartly, a smirk firmly planting itself on his mug. Humming to himself, he finally pulls out a thin card.

"Emma Swan." He states simply, eyebrows raising. "Massachusetts license and address. Either she just moved here or she is just passing through."

Killian nods in agreement, inhaling deeply. "Emma Swan." He repeats, enjoying the way it feels on his lips and the way it makes his stomach flutter slightly. "How quaint."

"Tow trucks are here Jones, looks like you'll be taking the usual spot in my backseat." Dave says as he returns to his vehicle. Killian waves to Marco and his son, August, as they begin to tow the vehicles. He walks slowly to Dave's car. Plopping himself into the small space and closing the door made him feel worthless. So many nights (he vaguely remembered) he would be sprawled across these seats a drunken mess. Deciding that he couldn't go home without _trying_ to see her, he made his choice.

"Take me to the hospital." Killian asserts to Dave, just as he is starting the engine.

"Why?" He asks, eyebrows raising in the rearview mirror.

"I'm not feeling too hot, Charming." Killian snaps back. Dave groans, and obliges to his demand. (Even though he despises Killian most of the time, he has a soft spot for him somewhere deep, deep down.)

It took Killian Jones thirty-seconds to realize he _really_ liked Emma.

It took Killian a mere ten minutes to accept that this woman was _far_ from average. She was stunning, a force to be reckoned with...

Most importantly, it took Killian Jones two hours to make Emma Swan smile.

* * *

><p>Emma Swan is not a woman who favors unneeded attention. The doting doctors and nurses made her feel weak, and she was most certainly not a weak person. She waves off their demands, scoffs at their persistence to make her stay the night, and tries (and fails) to remove herself from the IV that is anchored in her arm. She tells them she is fine, she nearly yells that she just wants to be alone (it is what she is used to). Her new apartment is waiting for her and she is sure her landlord will be disgruntled to discover that she is not there with the check he was promised. One night they assert to her, she has no choice but to agree.<br>Laying in the hospital bed, pressing furiously on the remote in search of a distraction she feels useless. She is so used to keeping herself busy that she rarely finds herself stagnant. Having nothing to do allows her mind to wander to places she had tucked deep inside her memory, (cold hands slapping her rosy cheeks, the burn of another cigarette put out on her wrist, Neal's promising words of home...) Sighing, disgruntled, and craving hot chocolate, she sank deeper into her bed wishing it were tomorrow.

When _he_ arrives all hell breaks loose.

It takes Emma thirty-seconds to realize she hates, despises, loathes Killian Jones.

_(He approaches her bed with a swagger that screams 'I'm gorgeous and I know it'. She denies his ego any satisfaction and beats it down before he can even complete a sentence. _  
><em> "Name's Killian Jones darl-"<em>  
><em> "The bastard who hit me." She interrupts. <em>  
><em> "The bastard who hit you.")<br>_  
>It takes Emma ten minutes, a heated conversation, a coy smile, and a hand in her curls to realize that Killian Jones is sinfully attractive, (but it only makes her despise him more).<p>

_("Why are you here?" She asks, eyes refusing to wander over his toned chest that is screaming to be released from the confines of his tight black shirt._  
><em> "You said you didn't have anybody."<em>  
><em> "What makes you think you're somebody to me?" <em>  
><em> "Just making sure you're okay, lass, I did hit you with my new car."<em>  
><em> "Is it important for you to tell me that your car is-was new when you were the one who failed to keep focus on the road?"<em>  
><em> "How could you not have seen me turning?"<em>  
><em> "You're blinker wasn't on, ass face."<br>__"The details are not important."  
><em>_"Tell that to the judge."  
><em>_"You seem fine now."  
><em>_"You gave me a concussion."  
><em>_"Isn't that better than broken bones?"  
><em>_"You're an idiot."  
><em>_"Now Swan," he says as he smiles, his features soften as he leans towards her. He meekly reaches for a curl that has fallen on her cheek and gently moves it behind her ear. "No need for name calling." __She forgets how to breathe, forgets how to stop staring at his gorgeous face and she craves for more of his tender touches...)_

It takes Emma two hours to realize that maybe she can tolerate him, and she most certainly wasn't falling in love with the way his eyes shone under the harsh florescent lights whenever a small smile threatens to grow on her face, or the way his breath hitches whenever she whispers something about how much she loves the sea.  
><em><br>("Why are you still here?" She asks after nearly two hours of conversation. _  
><em>"Mmm, well I quite fancy you when your not yelling at me." <em>  
><em>"I wasn't yelling, I was being assertive." She says, a small smile beginning to creep onto her face. <em>  
><em>"I admire a woman with a strong attitude, love." He replies, eyes faltering from hers to stare at her lips. <em>  
><em>"I'm not your love." She states again, this time with a slight blush. His eyes dance across her face, memorizing every angle and curve.<em>  
><em>"You remind me of the sea." He says, as his left hand scratches behind his ear. <em>  
><em>She hums in response, watching his suave, ladies man act diminish into something more genuine. "I do love the ocean."<em>  
><em>She sees him stiffen, sees the way he looks at her like she is the god damn sun. "I do too." He says, voice wavering slightly. "Let me take you out on my boat." <em>  
><em>Her eyebrows knit together in confusion, her heart stutters with hesitation, her stomach drops with nervousness. "You have a boat?" she whispers, trying to regain what little composure she still has. <em>  
><em>"Well no, well it's not mine technically, but it's my mates. Dave Nolan." He says, regaining the confidence that billowed out of him when he first strutted into her room. <em>  
><em>"Maybe." She replies cooly, biting her lip and squaring her shoulders. She was Emma Swan for gods sake, she did not swoon, she did not go on dates, and she most certainly was not that easy to please.. <em>  
><em>"I'll take that as a yes." He says, leaning back into his chair, arms crossed behind his head in victory. She smiles, and a laugh manages escape her lips at his determination.<br>"We'll see, Jones." She states, with a firm smirk. She is so screwed. _

It took two seconds for this handsome stranger, this Killian Jones, to total her car and destroy the last bit of Neal Cassidy from Emma Swan's life.

And she is starting to be okay with that.

(It was only a matter of time till' he won her heart.)

(It was only a matter of time till' she told him he already had.)

* * *

><p>So, this happened.<br>The next chapters will be much more focused. I'm wondering what you guys think of the alternating perspectives.  
>I plan to do, from now on, do a chapter from Killian's perspective and then a chapter from Emma's...I think this is the most logical way to get both of their stories told. I feel like if I continue dividing their perspectives in each chapter they will end up too messy, and too long (or too short). What do you think?<br>(and of course this will not _just_ be a fluffy happy story. Angst will manage to creep it's way into this piece.)  
>The path to true love is never smooth, guys. Remember that!<br>Hope you liked it!  
>-Alanna xxo<p> 


	3. Aftermath

A.N: Thank you guys so much for all the reviews and favorites. I was so happy to see what some of you guys wrote about this, and it seriously made my day. You are all the best. I know I said that I would be uploading on Sunday's from now on, but I'm quite an impatient person. So, yes. Here we are.

_THANK YOU TO THE ANONYMOUS READER WHO POINTED OUT THAT I HAD THE FIRST PARAGRAPH TWICE! You are a lifesaver my friend, edited it and reuploaded it! Muah Also I apologize if some sentences are mooshed together, my computer is dumb like that. i tried to find them all, but I apologize if you ran into a few and were like, what the hell? K that's all!_

_Chemistry of a Car Crash _

Chapter 3: Aftermath

* * *

><p>The hospital is winding down, the buzz of the staff and patients that have accompanied Killian and Emma's conversation is no longer there. It is quiet, and comfortable, and <em>easy.<em> Emma fights her tiredness forcibly, focusing hard to keep her lids from drooping and her body from sinking into the bed. Craving rest, but also craving more words from _him_ to fill the void of silence that she knows is going to be her worst enemy tonight. For the first time in a very long time, she doesn't want to be alone. But visiting hours are nearly up, the seconds are ticking by _too fast_. She is afraid of what will happen once he leaves. She knows _somewhere inside of her_ she wants to see him again, but another part of her is _screaming_ to not trust his gorgeous blue eyes (and perfectly disheveled hair). Hurt too many times, her mind (and torturous thoughts) are overpowering what her heart aches for. When the brunette nurse pops her head in, eyeing the two with a smirk, she informs them that visiting hours _are_ up. She sees the way Killian's shoulders drop, sees a sigh escape his lips as he firmly grips his hands together. She watches him stand, and look around awkwardly.

"What are you doing?" She asks, watching him rush around the room in search of _something_.

"You'll see, love." He replies, shooting her a wink. He leaves her room abruptly, and returns moments later holding a pen and paper. She holds her breath as she watches his hand meticulously scribble numbers, _his_ number. "I know you're leaving tomorrow lass, and I wanted you to have my number. I did promise you a boat ride." He says with a smile, hidden behind it is _something else_. "I don't even know if you live here." He finishes, as his left hand reaches meekly to scratch a fake itch behind his ear. A tinge of pink erupts on his cheeks and her heart nearly melts at the sight of such a _man_ weak from just _being around her. _

"I just moved here. I was on my way to my new apartment when some jackass decided to delay the process." She says firmly, watching his anxiety be swept away and the _fierce storm_ that she saw the first time their eyes met return. He liked to _banter_ with her. _Liked_ her jokes and quick wit, it made it _easier _for the both of them to be_ smart_ with each other rather than _lovesick puppies. _

"Mm, well I certainly am one _lucky_ jackass." He says, pressing his hands into the bed and leaning towards her. She sharply inhales, the close proximity of his face _makes this situation_ all too real. He slowly presses his cool lips to her cheek and hesitates removing them _for what seemed like hours. _She wants to fall into it, wants to feel what his lips feel like on _hers_. She wants to have his cologne cling to her clothes and his breath to _blend with hers. _

"Call me." He whispers into her ear, as he drops the note into her hands. _Literally feeling as if he has just given her a lifeline. _And promptly leaves without another word. She clutches the paper, and traces his number with careful accuracy. The room suddenly feels too small, and her thoughts are too loud, and her chest is fluttering with _anxiety_ and _hope_ but most of all she feels like she doesn't deserve him. She drops the paper onto her nightstand, suddenly feeling like it will _burn _her if she holds it any longer. The beeping of her heart monitor is roaring in her ears, and suddenly she is seventeen again.

* * *

><p>He placed a harsh kiss to her collarbone, biting at the skin making her hiss with pain. He continued to shower her with love-bites, (though they were, she realizes now, not given out of love, but <em>lust.<em>)

"Neal, ah, can you please stop?" She said delicately, refusing to ignite his temper.

"What's the problem, babe, can't handle it?" He says as his mouth crushes on to hers. She was gasping for air as his mouth continued to assault hers with sloppy kisses, unable to even move under his weight as his hands gripped each of her wrists.

"Please Neal, I don't feel good." She whimpered, as she felt the pounding headache she had all day hit her with a side of nausea.

Relentlessly, he continued his _rough_ foreplay, she felt so small underneath him, but this is what she was used to. _He was all she had known. _To Emma, this was love. _Love_ was not about her satisfaction, her happiness, it was about _Neal's. _She felt obliged to obey him, she felt that if she kept her mouth shut he would stay_. _As the bruises began to appear, and his late nights _with his 'friends' _whom she had never met turned into late nights threatening to punch her into submission she started to fear that she wasn't good enough for him_. _Each bruise, each scratch, each word spit from his lips stayed with her. Reminders for her to _be a better girlfriend._. So she accepted the abuse, accepted the punishment she deserved_. _

And called it love.

She was seventeen, she never knew what the warmth of a parents embrace felt like. Or how it felt to wake up on Christmas morning without feeling _sad. _She never knew what it felt like to hear someone say 'I miss you' or to have someone cradle her when she cried. She never knew what it meant to be _happy_ so she assumed_ this was happiness..._

"Neal, I'm really not feeling well." She asserted again, trying to pry her hands free.

"Shut up." He said through gritted teeth as his nails _dug _into her skin.

"Neal-"

_-slap-_

"I'm sorr-"

_-slap-_

"Please-"

_-he shoved her roughly off the bed-_

"Neal, Neal look at me-"

_-kick-_

Blood was dripping from her nose, her back _ached_ and her stomach was _in knots. _She crawled, a feeble attempt to escape his blows, and reached blindly around her to find something to help her stand.

_-kick-_

Back on the ground, back _face down on the floor_ she silently wished she were anywhere but there. _Neverland would be nice, _but she's too old to believe in that. Too young to realize what wasreally happening_. _She swore she heard Peter in her head, _"to die would be an awfully big adventure." _In that moment, she wished she would have died_. _

And now she's twenty-seven, barely _living_ just _existing_. And she's spent so much time running from him she never thought he would catch up to her.

And she feels seventeen again. As the scars of his abuse abruptly _ache_ with his memories.

And she swears she _is _seventeen again_. _Because she is a mess, and crying, _sobbing_ him out of her system. Feeling wretched and cold, she detests the thought of love_. _Love only exists in fairytales. And her life is far from a fairytale.

She is angry as the tears fall, angry that she is submitting to his memories, allowing the scars he had littered all over her skin to define her. She reaches for that stupid piece of paper with his number on it and rips it in half.

Emma Swan refuses to believe in love. She refuses to believe in fate, or coincidences. Killian Jones was a bump (in her already very rocky) road that was now in her rearview mirror. No, Emma Swan will not let her heart be wounded once again.

* * *

><p>Life returns to normal when Emma wakes up. Alone, eyes still swollen from last night's tears, heart still beating erratically at the thought of Neal, head still swimming with memories that were slowly returning to the back of her mind. It was one night of weakness, one night of being (and feeling) like a lost girl again. She will not let this slip up happen again. She dresses in her clothes from yesterday, making it feel like she is rewinding and erasing the last twenty-four hours, almost as if this whole ordeal never happened.<p>

She is discharged from the hospital a few minutes after nine. She immediately calls for a taxi, and heads to her new apartment. She approaches her landlord's office, which is conveniently in the basement of her new building. She knocks before entering, eyeing the woman from behind. Long grey hair, but wearing a suit? _She knows that her landlord is a woman..._

"Barbara Gold?" She asks, the advertisement for the apartment was very vague and she didn't think twice about defining whether her landlord would be a man or woman (although with a name like Barbara one could _only _assume that a woman would be standing before her). She turns, and Emma realizes that _she_ is definitely a _he. _Her eyebrows jump and she wants to laugh at how such an intimidating man could possess such a name as Barbara, but she contains herself.

"I'm sorry, I was...you don't look like a Barbara." She says with a low chuckle.

"It's a family name, _dearie._" He seethes, walking over to her with the assistance of his cane. "And you must be _Emma Swan. _You're late._" _

"I know, I'm sorry, I was in a car accident a couple of blocks from here and-"

"I do not need to hear your excuses, Ms. Swan. What I need is what you promisedme." He replies, dramatically raising his hand in a flamboyant gesture. Emma fumbles with her purse, that was brought to the hospital by Killian, and produces the envelope holding two months worth of rent. Mr. Gold snatches it from her hands before she could even properly hand it to him, and in return hands her a rusty key.

"Fourth floor, second door on the left. I had to let your movers in yesterday, whichdidnotmakemehappy_. _I expect your payments to be moreprompt from now on if you wish to stay in my building." He says, as he turns his back to her. "Now get out."

She nods and quickly removes herself from the dreary basement. Nearly falling over herself as she runs up the stairs. _Maybe moving to Maine wasn't a good idea. _She had been here for less than forty-eight hours, and somuchhas already happened. When she decided to move here, (a cozy town near the water google stated) she thought she would be able to find peace, butalsoremaina bails bondsperson. Her job allows her the flexibility she needs, (no matter where she ends up running to, there are always going to be perps), and Maine felt right to her, because it is so close to the sea_. _

Sighing, she made it to her door and unlocks it. Her couch, and TV are sitting in the center of the small studio apartment. The three boxes, filled with all of her (very few) possessions are sitting neatly on the floor. This is home, for now. She needs a week to digest everything, needs a week of _solitude_ to get herself in order. With her cable and internet already set up, she plugs in her TV and blasts the news. She rips open the first of the three boxes, pulls out her laptop, and gets to work researching the next assignment her boss had sent her. Yes, this is what Emma Swan loves. The comfort of background noise and the thrill of the hunt for bad guys. This is what she is good at. This is her routine.

* * *

><p>Killian Jones cannot stop looking at his phone. It has only been three days since the car accident, three days since he has seen <em>her<em> and he is an absolute mess. He can't focus on his work, he nearly misses every order yelled to him by his superiors, he can't sleep or eat or _think_ properly without hearing her soft laugh and remembering how lovely her hair had felt between his fingers. He groans and places his head on his desk. He should have known she wouldn't call him.

He fell back into his routine of drinking himself into oblivion, but instead of goingout he remains in his apartment. Days pass and he is still waiting for his phone to ring, but it never does. He feels stupid, feels like an absolute git for even giving her his number...

The days fall into each other, one after the other and his phone has remained silent_. _

It's been _a week_ now and it's Friday again and his car is finally fixed. He sees her's still a total mess of metal and yellow (that blasted yellow) in the back of the lot and he nearly _loses it._ The car accident, meeting her, the possibility of something good happening to him is just a pipe dream.

He drives home with a bottle of rum, his only true companion.

He wanders around his dark apartment aimlessly, taking shot after shot.

He haphazardly moves his nightstand and retrieves _their_ picture, the only one left.

_(He had destroyed the others, all in front of her the day she decided to leave. Her eyes were cast downwards, attempting to avoid watching his childish display of anger. He watched her tears fall with satisfaction as he ripped apart the last evidence of their happy life together. _

"_You did this to us, Milah. You destroyed us." He slurred to her. Realizing now that it was he who had done the destroying. "I hope you're never happy again." The rum was fueling him. _

"_I hate you!" She screamed to him, hitting his chest with balled fists, before she dropped to her knees as she attempted to salvage the pieces of the broken pictures. She was sobbing, her body was shaking and her hands quivered as they hovered over the shredded pieces. "I hate you!" She screamed again as she grabbed the pieces and crumpled them in defeat. "I hate you!" She whispered, standing again to face him. She turned on her heel and left without another word.)_

It's them on their wedding day. The wind is blowing her hair perfectly away from her face, she was laughing, clutching his waist and he still hears it mixed with the sound of the waves and the cheers from their friends. He grunts, despising the sickeningly sweet smile that was on his lips, and the way his hand is carefully placed on her lower back...He throws it on the ground, the glass shatters and echos through the darkness, making his ears ring. He steps over it and returns to his couch. It is barely _nine _and he is already plastered. He lays down in defeat, hands rubbing his eyes harshly.

Then he hears it.

It's soft, but he _knows _it is his ringtone, coming from his bedroom. He sits up in confusion and stumbles his way towards the sound. The glasscrunching under his shoes as he reaches for his nightstand, his phone still illuminated, a number he doesn't recognize is staring back at him. He bites his lips and exhales as he accepts the call.

"Hello?" He says, remaining perfectly still.

"Killian?" He hears her voice, calm _and sweet. _

"Swan?" he replies back with a small chuckle (the rum he has consumed is now coursing through his veins.)

"Hey." She states, he hears her voice quiver slightly.

"You alright?" He asks, falling onto his bed, hand still firmly gripping his phone to his ear.

"Yes. I uh..." She hesitates. He waits for her to finish, barely able to contain his _complete and utter _astonishment that she had actually called. "About that boat ride." She finishes lamely.

"I knew you couldn't resist me Swan." He says with a grin.

"Shut up Jones." She snaps back.

He hums in contentment. "How's Sunday?"

"Sunday's good." She replies.

"I'm happy you called, love."

"Killian, _for the last time, _I am not your love." She says, but he can practically hear the smile form on her face.

"I'll see you Sunday, _love._" He says again, just to get her riled up_. _

"Goodbye Jones."

"Goodbye Swan."

It took Emma Swan one week to realize that she didn't want to be a prisoner to her routine any longer_, _she was held captive by the fear wedged deep in her heart, but she had to believe that this life she was living, was no life at all.

It took Killian Jones one phone call to realize that he didn't want to be this man anymore, he wanted to live, he wanted to be excited to wake up again.

(If only they knew that the past was about to show up at their doors.)

* * *

><p>Cliffhangers are my absolute favorite. Love you guys, (updates will happen most likely every 3-4 days because I can't stand waiting like you guys).<br>-Alanna xxo


	4. Devastation

AN: Sorry for the delay. Thank you to all that have reviewed, I read each of them carefully and I am so thankful for you guys. The premiere was so good, and I am still so giddy and hyped from it. This season looks so good! So this chapter is one of those 'filler' chapters. I have been putting off writing it because I just want to skip to the good stuff, so sorry if it's kind of all over the place. I have big plans for the next couple of chapters, so stay with me people. (:  
>Okay, onto what you came here for.<p>

Chemistry of a Car Crash

Chapter 4: Devastation

* * *

><p>Killian Jones is not prone to panicking. But right now, he is panicking.<p>

He has not been on a proper date in years, (he sadly admits to himself that he can't even recall taking Milah out properly, without ruining it in some way.)

The prospect of being around a beautiful woman for an extended period of time without a surplus of alcohol and her in a compromising position makes his stomach turn and his head ache. In hindsight, he should have given himself more time. How can Killian persuade Dave to let him, Storybrooke's resident trouble maker, borrow his very expensive vessel?

More time, he always needed more time. Procrastination, disregarding his future, remaining oblivious to others is Killian's strong suit. (Wooing a woman properly, is not.)

He slowly dresses, the hangover mixing with his restless mind is making him nauseous, and the thought of talking to Dave is making the pain in his head worse.

He manages to put himself together, opting for a dress shirt and jeans rather than a lose t-shirt. He tames his bed head hair into a style that he hopes illustrates that he did not drink himself into oblivion the night before. He grumbles at his reflection, aside from his garb, he still can't recognize the man before him. His eyes, he determines, are what have changed the most...

He drives over to the station, (wisely choosing to not listen to the radio) and walks in cautiously.

He sees Dave diligently working on some paperwork, probably something involving himself, he thinks, and chuckles lightly to himself at the idea. Dave looks up immediately, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

"Killian?" He asks, standing abruptly. "I think this is the first time you have come here voluntarily."

"Ha, very funny Dave." He says dryly, as he moves further into the station, eyeing the small cell (his second home) warily.

"What the hell are you doing here Jones? Are you finally saving me the trouble of leaving the station to arrest you?" He says, as he reaches for his handcuffs with a sigh.

"No, nothing like that Dave. Put the cuffs away, I haven't done a thing."

"I was wondering why I didn't receive any calls last night. I was finally able to spend a Friday night with my wife."

"I've changed." Killian replies with a broad (fake) smile.

"I don't believe that for a second." Dave says firmly, plopping himself back into his chair.

"Well, David...I, well...we're mates, right?" Killian starts awkwardly, as he rubs a fake itch behind his ear nervously.

David stares blankly at Killian in disbelief. "Uh, not exactly." He replies with a laugh.

"Well, regardless, we have known each other for quite some time...and I, well, I need your boat. Well, I don't need it per se, I just want to borrow it. Tomorrow. For a day, just a day." He's rambling, he never bloody rambles. Emma Swan is making him weak.

"You want to borrow my boat." Dave repeats back carefully. "I'm not insane, Jones. Why would you think I would let you borrow my boat when you're incapable of functioning properly in society?"

"Pity?" Killian replies back meekly. "Listen, I met a lass. She's stubborn, and beautiful, and she's making my life a bloody mess. I promised her a boat ride, and I told her my mate wouldn't mind me using his..."

"You've met someone?" Dave interrupts. "A real someone, not just another one night stand deal?" He asks, slightly taken aback.

"Yes." Killian says firmly with a slight frown. Dave eyes him carefully, taking in his stance, calculating how much truth is behind Killian's words.

"Jones, have you signed the papers yet?"

"That's not what I cam here to talk about." Killian replies through gritted teeth. "Can I use your boat or should I just sod off?"

"If you sign the papers, you can use my boat." Dave answers firmly. Crossing his arms over his chest.

"You have no right to ask that of me."

"Actually I do mate. Milah has called and she-"

"Don't." Killian nearly shouts.

"It's your decision Jones." Dave says with a huff, as he returns to his paperwork.

Killian finds himself suddenly frozen. His chest is pounding. He hasn't thought about...he has chosen not to think about those damned papers in so long. Hearing her name, spoken so simply on another man's lips had abruptly turned his world upside down. So long he had only heard it repeated in his head, that it felt so alien, so foreign to hear it out loud. It was all around him, confining him making him feel so small. He was here, in this hellhole he winds up in every week of every month. Because of her.

Trapped, he was trapped in this vicious cycle. And hearing her name triggered something, being presented with his future in the form of an offer for a stupid boat made him realize what he had been doing for too long.

And this was all because of that blasted radio and his inability to multitask.

All because of Emma Swan, crashing into him in more ways than one.

"I'll drop them off later." He finds himself saying, suddenly breaking the silence of the room. He sees Dave smirk, and he storms out.

Yes, Emma Swan is worth more than the little hope he clings to that Milah will return.

* * *

><p>It is noontime on Saturday when Emma decides that she has made a mistake. A very large, monumental mistake in the form of Killian Jones. She groans as she stares at her phone, realizing that having a bottle of wine was not an ideal thing to have done, especially since after only drinking half she had found herself staring at the crumbled pieces of paper that his number was written on trying to determine the correct order.<p>

She barely remembers the call, but can admit to remembering that she agreed to go on a boat trip with him. White wine was her best friend, and now her worst enemy. She finds herself in a daze, debating to herself on whether or not she should cancel, mulling over every excuse she can use, every excuse she wants to use but a part of her (a very, very small part of her) is excited. She finds herself in her bedroom, staring at the last box she has failed to open. There is something so final about tearing open this box. Once it's contents are released, it would make this move official. She never likes to get too comfortable, and the contentment she feels about keeping that box closed, and it's contents sealed makes her feel calm. It gives her reassurance that she still has a chance to escape, still has a chance to keep running.

She signs to herself as she gently tugs at the tape, slowly tearing it away from the box. The sound is loud, and it rips through the silence of her apartment making her feel all the more anxious about such a small task. Standing abruptly, putting space between her and the finality of this place, she walks away.

She decides to leave the box for another day.

The hours pass quickly, and Saturday suddenly turns into Sunday. She is standing in front of her closet, debating about what to wear. Emma Swan is not the type of woman who cares much about pleasing a man with her appearance. But there is something about Killian Jones that makes her want to dress up a bit, after all, he had only seen her at her worst. She cringes at the idea of him seeing her in such a disarray during the crash, and can't even begin to imagine how much of a mess she looked in the hospital.

She decides on something simple; red leather jacket (always a must), black tee (that shows off her assets appropriately without flaunting them), and skinny jeans. She works hard on her hair, always a hassle (the curls often have a mind of their own) and lightly adds makeup on her face, not much but enough. She likes that she is trying, it feels good to want to do this again.

(She fights hard trying to quiet Neal's voice in heard, he always told her she could try harder to look good for him.)

Her phone beeps, and her stomach nearly flips. His name is on her screen, bright and demanding and again so final.

I'll meet you at the docks in fifteen?

She inhales sharply, and types a reply quickly before she can think twice about the whole thing.

You're lucky I live so close to them, Jones. Some asshole totaled my car, remember?

She smiles at her response, she will never get tired of reminding him.

Oi, that again? How many times do I have to apologize, love? (;

She leaves it at that. The walk to the docks is peaceful, and the weather is ideal. She feels light, and at ease...but then she sees him.

He is standing on a boat, fumbling with the sail. His arms look strong and his forehead is glistening with sweat, his teeth are pressing hard on his lower lip and he looks winded and inviting and...God she needs to get a grip of herself.

She approaches quietly, wondering what to say, wondering if she should just turn around and run, but their eyes meet and her breath is stolen and she is at a loss of what to do or say.

"Swan." He says simply, nodding to her as he smiles.

"Jones." She says back, as a smile threatens to make it's way on to her face.

"What do you think?" He says, gesturing to the boat. She forgets that that is the reason she is here again with him, forgets the whole plan, and forgets that her eyes have been fixated on his form for way to long.

"It's...great." She stutters. "But I've seen better." She states, recovering from her initial moment of weakness. He scoffs at her, but his smile never leaves his face.

"Just get up here, would you lass?"

She smiles to herself as she bows her head, attempting to hide her blush. She reaches for the ladder and hoists herself onto the vessel.

"Ready, Swan?" He says, as he extends his arm. She hesitates, and avoids his gesture by gently walking around it. He frowns, and quickly lets his arm fall to his side. "Take that as a yes, I presume." He whispers, more to himself than her.

"Sorry, I'm just not used to-"

"No need for an explanation, love" (There he goes again dragging out every vowel of that stupid word purposely.) She smirks, and likes that he is making it easy for her.

He prepares the sails, as she sits comfortably on the side lines. A breeze is playing with her hair, and he comments about how 'it's a perfect day for this' and she can't help but silently agree. She is finally enjoying Maine's coast, finally finding a place that doesn't seem daunting, a place she can maybe (finally) settle into for more than a month or two...And it's then, while she is looking out at the water lost in her thoughts (as usual) that she finds him above her.

"What are you...?" But his lips are suddenly on hers, and she can't fathom a time when she didn't want this closeness with another person. And it is so abrupt and so fast, and so spontaneous that she doesn't even have time to doubt him or herself, or this.

And for the first time in two years, she feels bliss.

He pulls away, and his eyes are storming again, and she can't find the right thing to say, she is confused and yearning...Slack jawed, and a teenager again, she laughs.

He opens his mouth to say something, to fill the void of stillness that has overcome them both.

He is hovering above her, just like he did when they crashed (in more ways than one) and she is waiting for him to respond.

But a voice breaks them apart, and sends them back into reality. She watches Killian peer over her, towards the docks. Watches as his shoulders stiffen, and his breath hitch.

He stands, and his eyes turn dark. She follows his glance, and she swears her heart stops.

"Milah?"

"Neal?"

They say simultaneously.

And thats when their world stops.

The woman that Killian so desperately desired, the past he has craved for, is standing there, a mere five feet away. Side by side with the man Emma has been running from, the darkness she thought she had escaped is suddenly, again suffocating her. And they both feel out of place next to each other, the warmth that tinged her lips suddenly feels like it stings. She wants to hide, wants to scream, and pounce and be anywhere but there.

"How do you know my son?" The woman asks, crossing her arms over her chest.

He lied, he lied and told her he was an orphan too. She feels sick thinking about other things he could have lied about, feels sick at the thought of hearing his voice again.

Neal's eyes catch her's and she loses it, nearly tripping over herself as she makes her way off the boat. She speeds past them, the tears already clouding her vision.

"Emma, wait." She hears him shout. And she wishes it were Killian to have said that, but it was him. And his voice is just as she remembers it to be. She runs, faster and farther away from this mess. Killian Jones was a hazard, an unobtainable form of happiness. This is why she built walls, this is why she knew better than to let them down. Once again leaving the past behind her, and she has no intention of letting it catch her.

* * *

><p>He can't keep his eyes off of her. He hears Emma rise, but he can't bring himself to look. His eyes are carefully taking in every detail of her, of his Milah. Her dark curls just the way he remembered, flowing easily in the breeze. Her eyes sharp like daggers ripping at him easily, making him crumble and weak and he feels stupid. He is staring because he doesn't feel what he thought he would. He has imagined this moment for so long, he has imagined his heart to pick up it's pace, his knees to weaken, and his stomach flutter. But he doesn't feel anything, it's like looking at a stranger and that's what's messing with him. He want's to feel what he felt when he first laid eyes on her.<p>

(He realizes he felt it when he first saw Emma)

Emma, God, he had let her run.

"Milah." He repeats again. He eyes her son warily, he knew of him (a first marriage mistake Milah often stated) but never formally met the lad. He watches the way his shoulders hunch as he stares off to where Emma was just moments before.

And it clicks.

This was more than fate. More than a mere coincidence.

Crashing into Emma, needing a boat for a blasted outing, and gaining this closure from seeing Milah, was his destiny. He knows now that Emma is who he wants, the future is what he wants.

He chuckles at the irony of it all.


End file.
